


Where I'm From There is a Lock and Key

by gallantrejoinder



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Basically just a retelling with butch lesbian Philip!, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Anne has always known what is possible, and what is not.Philippa Carlyle, the scandalous daughter of a wealthy New York family, is trying to change that.





	Where I'm From There is a Lock and Key

“You _know_ that I want you,” Philippa says, and her voice is hoarse.

Anne stills. She doesn’t turn around.

“It’s not – this isn’t some shameful secret that I’ve tried to hide. I couldn’t. Not for a second.”

She hears Philippa step closer, her dress shoes squeaking lightly on the floor. Anne grabs the rope and begins to unfurl it, swallowing down a reply, not trusting herself to speak. She steps away from Philippa and into the ring, carrying the rope with her, but Philippa – Philippa touches her.

Her hand against Anne’s shoulder. Gentle but firm.

Anne thinks it may be the first time they’ve ever touched, skin to skin at least. She can’t remember for sure – can’t think straight at all, right now, because everything else is falling away, lost to the simplest sensation of skin against skin.

“Please don’t act like our hands are tied,” Philippa pleads, softly. “Please don’t pretend you don’t feel this. I can feel you–” She lowers her hand down Anne’s arm to take her wrist, gently pulling her around, and raising Anne’s hand to her chest. “–in here. I can feel you.”

Anne doesn’t let herself look into Philippa’s eyes, because she knows that if she does, she’ll forget everything she knows to be true. Barnum’s fantasia is trickery and hokum, and however adored she may feel for those glorious brief minutes on the stage, she knows it to be glamour, gone as quickly as smoke and flame, as if it never was. This – whatever _this_ is – must be too, because there isn’t a way for her to be with Philippa. Not even if Philippa really were a man, instead of just dressing as one. The colors of their skin make it impossible. The sex they were born into makes it impossible. Their respective families and classes make it impossible. Their destiny is foiled thrice over, and that is the truth of it.

Anne looks up.

“Don’t act like this is easy for me,” she says, though her voice is trembling. “I want – I want so many things I can’t have. I want to go to the theatre. I want to walk down the street freely. I want to protect my brother. I want to see my mother again! I’m used to wanting things I can’t have.”

Philippa opens her mouth, but Anne raises a hand to stop her, pressing a single finger against her lips. Philippa stills.

“So you’d better get used to it too, Miss Carlyle,” she says, swallowing past her pain. “Not all of us can afford to push the rules of society as far as you do. There’s a limit. Even for you.”

She turns and walks away, and wishes she couldn’t still feel the warmth of Philippa’s mouth against her hand.

 

~

 

They still see each other. In their line of business it’s unavoidable. But Philippa restricts herself to purely professional inquiries, while Anne answers as politely and shortly as she can.

Still, the circus is required to perform, and Anne takes some twisted pride in showing off for the audience, feeling that brief adoration as she smiles and smirks and twirls for them. As soon as she leaves the stage, the mask drops, and she returns to a state of resigned demureness. W. D. notices. Nothing slips by him. But there’s little enough he can do for her – if she’d fallen for a white man, it would’ve made him angry with fear for her, but a white woman? She can’t afford to test the limits of his patience. She owes him everything. And he certainly doesn’t deserve to go mad with worry over her any more than he already does.

Not that she can really stop him, by not talking to him about it.

But she has no plans to start.

 

~

 

The show goes on. And on, and on.

Until it doesn’t.

The fight that erupts isn’t something she hears about until later. She first smells the smoke while she’s sitting in her room and making a brave attempt to fix a hole in her costume. For several minutes it registers faintly, before she makes the connection that smoke means _fire_. At that point, she rises to her feet, opens the door out of curiosity – and immediately begins to choke on the thick smoke billowing into her room.

Turning, half blind, she stumbles towards the window, scrabbling at it with clumsy fingers. Finally it unlatches, and she wrenches the window open, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air. From there it’s a simple matter to squeeze her body out and down the wall with strong hands –

She was a climber long before she discovered the trapeze.

The smoke is pouring into the sky now, and ash falls back down, covering her clothes and skin with soot. Blindly, she finds her way out of the alley and onto the street, where the roar of the fire is joined by the screams and cries of the gathered crowd – she can see most of the circus there, thank god. Even Barnum is back. She flies into W.D.’s arms with a cry, and he grabs her tightly, eyes wild with terror.

And as she turns, the blood drains from Barnum’s face. He cries Philippa’s name, and Anne realises what’s happened.

Barnum looks at her, at the raging wreck of his life’s work, and finally, at his family.

He runs in after Philippa.

Mrs Barnum screams, but Anne has no words, while W.D. holds her hand to keep her still. He can carry her for hours, it’d be useless to try fighting him now – but she doesn’t, too exhausted and terrified to do naught but stare, incredulous and speechless with the horror of it all.

There is a great roar of flame and smoke, and before their disbelieving eyes, the roof of the circus caves in, sending out black soot which cuts their screams of horror short, choking them. Then there is only the rumble of the fire, hot, and in full bloom.

Anne turns her head to W.D.’s shoulder, letting out a low moan of wordless grief.

But, without warning –

“Daddy!”

… _Impossible_.

Impossible, yet true. She turns her face back, and sees Barnum stumbling out of the wreck, holding Philippa in his arms. A sob works its way through her, a strangled cry that isn’t quite relief, because Philippa may yet be – might not have –

Barnum sets her gently on the ground, and W.D. leaves Anne’s side to cradle her head.

“She’s taken a lot of smoke,” Barnum pants, “She’s still breathing – Come on –”

Men set Philippa on a stretcher within moments, and Anne has to watch. Has to stand there and be useless, helpless, as the love of her life is taken away and the only home she’s ever known burns.

 

~

 

Hours later, she finds her way to the hospital. A nurse lets her in to the ward where Philippa is staying, glancing up and down at her color once, before pressing her lips together tightly and nodding. Whatever she might think of Anne seeing Philippa, she keeps it to herself, likely concocting some story in her head about an over-attached servant seeing to her mistress.

Anne doesn’t have the strength left to be hurt by that just now. Anything that will let her see Phillipa is something that she can endure.

She sits beside Philippa’s broken body and feels the tears come again. Philippa’s eyes are dark, sunken into her face, hiding that brilliant blue away. Soot still marks her skin, and burns shine red to cut through the dark smudges.

Anne takes her hand, unwilling – unable to hold herself back any longer. She leans forward. Only Philippa ought to hear what she has to say.

“You must wake up,” she whispers. “Because I never had the chance to kiss you. To show you everything I feel for you.”

She swallows past the sobs which won’t stop coming, and squeezes Philippa’s hand.

“Wake up, Carlyle. Keep being impossible. I need you to. I need you.”

She falls silent, and begins her vigil.

 

~

 

Morning dawns eventually, as it must, no matter how their lives have changed. Grey light fills the room, and nurses come around to extinguish the lamps, glancing curiously at her rigid posture and the way she holds Philippa’s hand. Not one of them dares to question her. She still looks a fright from the fire, and so does Philippa. They must reason everything away, everything that’s different, everything that’s extraordinary.

Her heart leaps every time Philippa twitches, so she’s used to false hope by now. But then something changes – the hand in hers tightens suddenly, and she holds her breath, hardly daring to believe –

Philippa’s eyelashes flutter open, and the blue returns, dawning like the sky outside. Her lips part.

“You’re here,” Philippa whispers hoarsely, seeming to be lost in a dream.

Anne doesn’t waste time – not after a lesson like the one she has just learned.

She drops Philippa’s hand, holds Philippa’s face steady, and kisses her. Twice, and again.

Perhaps they are being watched. Perhaps the doctors and nurses and other patients see what they do, and are offended. But Anne doesn’t notice or care.

Under her lips, Philippa smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm white and Anne is obviously not. If there's any issues with her portrayal I'm open to constructive criticism and feedback.
> 
> [This is the song referenced in the title of this work.](https://genius.com/Missy-higgins-secret-lyrics) Secret, by Missy Higgins, a rather sad song about a closeted relationship.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


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